I have written about the laundry situation.  I am approaching regular status at the shop around the corner, on FDR.  I tip so they like me.  However, scheduling is an issue this weekend and I don’t have a full load so I thought I’d rinse out a few shirts in the sink.  Easy enough, I have these light weight, quick dry shirts that I’ve washed in hotel rooms, rivers, etc.  I had them hanging up in the balcony door way when a quick gust came up and they started swinging ominously.  I was quick but I only got two of the three.  The grey one landed on, ironically enough, a clothes line a few floors down.

When everything is going to plan, my poor language skills and lack of a complete understanding of how society works here aren’t noticeable.  But as soon as something like this happens, it comes home quickly.  In the United States, I’d probably know my neighbor well enough to just go ask for my shirt back.  In a less urban setting, it wouldn’t be an issue – the ground would be flat and I’d just go pick it up.  If I knew no one, I could quickly and easily explain my situation and probably be able to make a joke and express sincere gratitude.  Here, I can’t really say who owns the space in which my shirt now resides.  I studied and decided it must be the folks in 3B.  Unfortunately, it appears that the man of apartment 3B works nights.  Anyway, I woke him up.  I know how to say I’m sorry, which I did a lot.  I also was able to communicate to him that my grey shirt had fallen onto his balcony.  He closed the door and went to check.  He came back, more unhappy than before, to tell me that there was no grey shirt on his balcony.

The folks in 2B weren’t home.

I then ran into the doorman in the stair well.  He came up and took a look at my shirt, drying nicely about 30 feet below.  He instantly knew who owned the space and in about 10 minutes he had retrieved my shirt.  Good to know the doorman.  It’s also good to speak the local language.

In the meantime, I decided the falling shirt was a sign that it was time to sew a button onto the orange shirt I’d been dragging around for weeks.  That took a couple of episodes of Luke Cage to complete.  But I now have a functional orange shirt.  And a dry grey shirt.  From disaster comes bounty.

We’re off to Uruguay at 0530.  I’ll probably not post here until we return Monday so have a nice weekend. Oh, I can just see it from my sofa: the moon is in the penumbra.  I’ll lose it behind the building next door soon.  But, yeah, I saw it a bit.

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